"Let's do some warm-ups," I say.
Lucas stares at his toes, then back up. "Do you have time to warm up and give me pointers?"
"Yeah, kiddo. Don't worry."
He attempts to rush through the motions, obviously eager to get to the good part, but I make him do it again. Eventually, he gives in, doing everything by the book.
"Now, show me what you know, and we'll go from there."
I observe him for the next few minutes, in which he self-consciously performs the routine he learned at school. I make mental notes of the moves he does wrong and the techniques he can improve.
For the next few hours, I teach him everything I think might be useful for tryouts. He absorbs everything with a voracity I recognize, and it reminds me of the long afternoons Alice spent practicing with me. Yeah, my sister was, and still is, hands-down the best soccer player in our family. When I was in high school, I finally shoved my pride aside and asked her to train with me. I desperately wanted to be the best on the team, to impress a girl.
Watching Lucas, I can tell there's something strong driving his motivation, but given his age, I suspect it's not a girl.
Four hours later, we're both tired. We only stopped for brief breaks to drink water. Now we're wolfing down sandwiches Sienna brought to us. I can tell Lucas would like to keep going, but he's exhausted.
"Do you think I have a shot at making the team?" he asks. "Dad would be so proud of me if I did."
Ah, and here’s his reason. "Yeah, you do. When are tryouts?"
"In two weeks."
I try to remember if I have important meetings scheduled late in the evening from now until then. Screw it! If I do, my assistant will just have to move them around. "How about if I stop by a few times after dinner until your tryouts? I could give you more tips, watch you train."
Lucas freezes in the act of biting into his sandwich. "That would be so cool."
"I'll work out something with Victoria, then."
He nods, eating his sandwich at lightning speed.
"Hurrying somewhere?" I inquire. "You'll choke."
"Yeah, I have to shower and then water the flowers," he explains proudly. "I always do that on Saturdays."
I stare at him, slightly thrown by his enthusiasm. "You're a good brother. When I was your age, I tried to weasel out of my duties as often as possible."
Lucas sits up straighter, squaring his shoulders. "I'm the man of the house. I can't wise out of my duties."
"Weasel," I say automatically.
"Yeah, that." After a brief pause, he says, "I want to help Victoria, so they let us stay with her."
"What?"
"That guy from social services was here yesterday. Victoria is always upset after that. I think they want to take me and Chloe away. We're adopted, you know."
Stunned, I mull over an answer in my mind, but nothing brilliant strikes me. "I know, but Victoria is your sister, and she loves you," I say simply. "She'd never let them take you away."
Judging by the apprehension on his face, he really fears that possibility. He glances toward the kitchen window before saying in a small voice, "Last night I heard her crying in her room. Victoria never cries. What if something bad happened?"
I stop chewing, the thought of Victoria crying not sitting well with me at all. The kid breaks my heart. I take one long look at him, trying to put myself in his shoes, but the truth is, I didn't have a care in the world growing up, while he’s lost his parents. I suppose this creates some kind of insecurity running deeper than anything I know.
"Look, your sister loves you 100 percent. People sometimes cry without something bad happening. Maybe she just had a long day. Work can be stressful, or you just run into a jerk in traffic—"
"Bad word," Lucas informs me.
"Sorry! You run into a bad person in traffic."